South Africa's Races Erupt—In Laughter

By

Peter Wonacott

Updated May 17, 2013 7:06 p.m. ET

JOHANNESBURG—Daniel Friedman stands before a mostly black crowd, guitar in hand, to apologize for being white in South Africa.

A crop of young comedians have embraced political humor in South Africa as a way of finding common ground — and humorous distinctions — among races. WSJ's Peter Wonacott reports from Johannesburg via #WorldStream.

The 32-year-old sings what isn't often spoken here. He's sorry white people complain so much; he's sorry half his family fled the country; he's sorry he can't pronounce or spell the names of most black people.

"But most of all, I'm sorry for apartheid, I apologize," he sings in a sweet tenor. "I swear it wasn't me—it was all those other guys."

The audience at the sold-out comedy show, called "Blacks Only," erupts in laughter.

It has been 19 years since the end of a white minority government that kept the races of South Africa apart. Now those who helped topple the system are often just as critical of the democratic government that took its place. Recently, a crop of young comics has embraced biting satire as a way to point out the absurdities of today's rainbow nation, from persistent gaps between rich whites and poor blacks to a president who has four first ladies.

"We're past the warm and fuzzy stage of a new democracy," says Mr. Friedman, a former journalist and folk singer whose stage name is Deep Fried Man. "We laugh so we don't cry. That's an encouraging environment for comedians."

ENLARGE

Deep Fried Man, also known as Daniel Friedman, performs at Oh My Gosh, a club that features comics of mixed race in Johannesburg.
Nieves Qi

The nation's stand-up scene, says Mr. Friedman and others, has exploded in the past few years, as South Africans seek comic relief from race tensions and political scandal. Aspiring comics also earn decent livings from corporate gigs when not performing at the growing number of comedy clubs. The young audiences are as diverse as the comedians who perform, marking a generational shift from the days when people were uncomfortable joking about race—at least in public.

"Apartheid split us up and we developed culturally on our own. Now everything is integrated, even the comedy," says Ryan Townsend, an advertising executive at a club called Oh My Gosh that features comics of mixed race, known in South Africa as colored.

Trevor Noah, another comedian who mines race and politics for material, is the son of a black South African mother and a white Swiss father who got together during apartheid, when interracial couples were illegal. "I was born a crime," Mr. Noah jokes.

South Africa's Indians are also poking fun at others and themselves. Riaad Moosa, the son of two doctors, stars in a recent critically acclaimed movie, "Material." It tells the story of a Muslim of Indian descent who grows up in an ethnic neighborhood under apartheid-era law. He bucks his father's wish that he take over the family fabric shop—opting instead for a career in comedy.

In real life, Mr. Moosa left his own medical practice to tell jokes, riffing on topics such as how it feels to board an airplane when fellow passengers think you're there to hijack it. In one bit, a woman becomes unhinged when his Halal meal arrives and she realizes he's Muslim. "Listen, I don't appreciate your reaction to me—how do you think I feel?" he says. Long pause. "I mean, this is my last meal…."

A favorite target among South Africa's young comics is the country's president, Jacob Zuma, an avowed polygamist with four wives and more than 20 children. Polygamy is legal in South Africa, and acceptable in his Zulu culture, but that doesn't let him off the hook in the comedy clubs.

Noting President Barack Obama tweeted "Four more years" after he won re-election, David Kau, host of the "Blacks Only" revue, jokes that South Africa's president followed with a tweet of his own: "Four more wives."

Mr. Kau co-founded "Blacks Only" nine years ago in a dig at exclusive white clubs of the apartheid era. He puts on three or four shows a year in a theater setting, usually featuring black comedians and, as he describes it, "one token white guy." A performance at a resort near the Soweto township, with tickets at around 250 rand ($28), drew a diverse audience including many from the country's new black middle class.

Mr. Kau began performing stand-up before white corporate executives in 1998 while studying drama at the University of Cape Town. He says his jokes at that time were mainly variations of "I don't work here, hahaha, but I'm not going to steal your bags."

Today, the 35-year-old mentors other black comics, such as Skumba Hlophe, who shifts effortlessly from English to Zulu during a set at "Blacks Only." Mr. Hlophe tests material on his grandmother. If she laughs, he's onto something. If she shrieks "we're both going to hell!" he knows he's got a winner.

Introducing Mr. Friedman, Mr. Kau tells the audience he is the white act recommended by management. "Please welcome him," Mr. Kau warns, "or he might report back to the people who own the place."

Deep Fried Man's act includes an ode to interracial love that gets the audience clapping along. "The only way we'll ever be equal," he sings of blacks and whites, "is if we make more colored people."

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